


All Is Calm

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-19 14:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17003403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: Prompts: love, loss, victory.The story took a turn I had to follow. I hope it pleases the reader.





	All Is Calm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pactnmmt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pactnmmt/gifts).



 

There is nothing quite so devastating as the reality of one's failed romance on the eve of the happiest day of the year. If Rhonda Parsley had to smile and say 'Merry Christmas' to one more person, she thought she might need to strangle the poor soul.

1968 had held so much promise back on New Year's Day. She was in love with a wonderful guy, her job was perfect… happiness was a reality.

No more. The dream had been ruined by a blonde bombshell who thought it wasn't the worst thing in the world to steal another girl's fiancé. Instead of a wedding for Christmas, Rhonda was alone with her misery while LaDonna was on her honeymoon with Greg, the man who got away.

"It's a very bad romance novel, and I don't think there's a happy ending in it for me." Saying it out loud kept the anger fresh, and Rhonda had no qualms about being angry. She despised LaDonna, loathed Greg and generally hated life; especially now.

Rhonda's angry internal diatribe was interrupted by the voice of her boss, Jennifer Potts. The dream job was actually still intact, although without a life outside of work, it seemed somehow less dreamy.

"Sweetie, do you have the drawings ready?" Jennifer's southern drawl warmed things up a little. She was a nice person, and talented. Working for a designer had been a lifelong goal for Rhonda, and her talents and desire to acquire the skills necessary for a career in design had brought her to this place. It was no secret that Jennifer Potts was grooming the young woman to move into a position where she would start to receive credit for her work, to establish her own mark in the industry. For now, she was an illustrator, and a very good one. The only thing slowing down the pretty brunette was a nagging heartache, one of life's more devious detours.

The room was humming with activity, and color was everywhere. Fabric swatches were attached to drawings that would soon become garments destined for boutiques around the city. New York was the only place to be if fashion called out to you, and Rhonda had heard early in life that beckoning voice. Her dreams of becoming a designer had begun the first time she saw Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina. Even in black and white, her imagination saw color in the clothing worn by the glamourous actress. Afterwards she immersed herself in fashion magazines, using the photos as muses for drawings. Rhonda eagerly attended Home Economics classes and learned to sew; before long she was making her own clothes to the oohs and ahhs of her friends, eventually enrolling in design courses at NYU. After graduation she had easily won an internship with Jennifer's little label.

''I have them, and the swatches are attached. I think you'll like these." What Rhonda meant was she hoped Jennifer would love them and reward her assistant with something long awaited. Come to think of it, being given actual design credit would probably be the only satisfying thing she might get for Christmas this year.

As evening drew itself a ring around the city, lights began to spring to life, making everything bright and colorful. Store windows attracted passersby while homes illuminated by Christmas trees and rimmed with big, colorful bulbs made everything seem like a storybook come to life.

Rhonda's work day had ended on a high note when Jennifer Potts gave her the good news. At least Christmas Eve wasn't a total loss.

"Rhonda, you're one of the best illustrator's I've ever used, and on top of that you're a good designer. In the coming year you'll have a shot at doing a collection of your own. Are you up for it?" Rhonda thought everything took on a new, glittery luster. This was what she had worked so hard for.

"Jennifer, yes… yes, I'm ready and so very excited. Thank you!" She hugged the other woman, thanking her again for the opportunity. That had been two hours ago, and as she sat alone in a booth inside of the Dilly Diner, Rhonda was still basking in the afterglow of such a momentous change in her career.

But, she was alone. And it was Christmas Eve, and instead of being at the alter next to the man she had thought she would marry…

Her review of the lowest point in her year was interrupted by a resonant voice asking if he might join her.

"I'm sorry… Do I know you?" She looked up into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. The voice belonged to a very attractive blond, and those eyes were looking into hers in a way that made her stomach lurch just a little.

"No, regrettably we are not acquainted. However, I am in need of a favor… from you."

Illya Kuryakin was attempting to evade someone, a very unpleasant someone whose sole intention this evening was to do him bodily harm. He would have preferred to not involve an innocent bystander, but time was running short. He needed to not be alone, and this young woman was the only other person in the diner who was not with someone else.

Rhonda, whose thoughts of disappointment and loneliness had been consuming her, was suddenly very open to the idea of sharing space with this very intriguing sounding man. He had an accent, sort of British, sort of something else…

"Um, sure, please… sit down. Is everything all right, I mean…?" The small smile he returned to her inquiry made her stomach do that thing again. Geez, she hadn't had a reaction like that for a very long time. Come to think of it, not even Greg had prompted butterflies for a very long time. It occurred to her now, as she tried to act nonchalant and worldly, that perhaps losing Greg wasn't so tragic after all.

Illya sat down at her invitation. He smiled again and nodded his appreciation.

"My name is Illya, and I apologize for the intrusion. It's just that there is someone who was bothering me, and I'm hoping if I'm with someone then, well… One can hope."

That accent was hypnotic. Rhonda was sure she was staring at him, at those eyes and his hair. He was all in black, a turtleneck accenting how exotic he seemed to her. If he were taller he could pass for a model.

"I'm Rhonda, pleased to meet you. And it's nice to have someone to talk to, it being Christmas Eve and all.' She winced at that admission.

"I mean, I just got off work and decided to drop in here to get a bite to eat. Um… single life, you know." Illya knew, and he understood what was not being said. She was alone, with no where in particular she needed to be. He understood.  
His own apartment was dark and empty, no sign of the season evident. His friend and partner, Napoleon, would be expecting him to show up for a party at his apartment. Illya wondered how long it would take until worry or curiosity began to niggle at Napoleon's brain about his absence. Promises had been made to not ignore Christmas, something that had made being followed by a THRUSH courier irksome and, to be honest, disappointing. He had truly been looking forward to a little holiday diversion.

Rhonda thought this man, Illya, looked slightly sad at her reply.

"Are you supposed to be somewhere tonight? I mean, it's Christmas Eve, most folks have family or friends…' she let her words trail off slightly, waiting for some indication from him.

"I'm sorry, that was forward of me." It was none of her business, although he had just inserted himself into her evening. Illya smiled again, she was pretty. He wondered why she was alone in a diner on Christmas Eve.

"I was heading to a party at a friend's place, but … ' How much could he tell her?

"I am being followed by someone who is not on my Christmas list, and not invited to the party. I just hoped that if I sat down and acted as though I'm… well…" Rhonda smiled now.

"Someone else?"

"You'd make a good spy." She'd been quick with that response.

"Really? Well, that's not something I've ever thought about doing, but if it helps you out then I'm in."

The waitress interrupted their conversation with the delivery of menus.

"Can I get you something to drink? We have eggnog for a little Christmas cheer." She was herself cheerful, to her credit. Who enjoyed working on Christmas Eve?

Illya declined the eggnog, as did Rhonda. "Just coffee for me," they both replied at the same time. And then, something passed between them that warmed both their souls. It wasn't sensual, more of a comforting warmth that lets two people know that they have a common emotion, a shared moment.

For Illya Kuryakin, it was dangerous to feel attraction to someone like Rhonda. He was dangerous. And she seemed… nice. That thought evoked a long sigh, something that Rhonda caught as she noted the smile on his face morph momentarily into something somber, almost sad. She hadn't been wrong before, Illya had a sadness about him.

"So, the party at your friend's house…"

"Apartment. He lives uptown, throws nice parties." Rhonda thought she saw a slight blush on Illya's face. How endearing… this man was adorable. And cute, very cute.

"And are you still going to make an appearance? I'm sure your friend will be disappointed if you don't show up." Rhonda suddenly wanted to accompany Illya to this party. She had nothing else to do. Her family was a thousand miles away, and none of her friends had stayed in town. She was, quite literally, all alone. Why not make a new friend?

Illya was having similar thoughts, although there was still some small bit of danger that the courier might be continuing to look for him. To what end though? Surely no attempt on his life would be made, and even THRUSH couriers had some bit of Christmas to get to… hopefully.

"I would like to. Um… this is a bit, well… Would you like to join me? I mean, you don't actually know me, but…"

"I'd love to. I mean, it sounds like fun." This was living dangerously, and suddenly, life seemed a little less like that stupid, bad romance novel.

The smile on Illya's face made Rhonda's stomach lurch again, like the first drop on a roller coaster. She didn't think she was wrong to trust him, and she felt a comfort in being with him as they got up from the booth and walked towards the diner's door. Illya left a generous tip, something that did not escape her notice. He was considerate, something that, in retrospect, she realized Greg had not been. He never left a good tip, insisting instead that people were already being paid and the price of the meal was enough for him to spend.

Rhonda had settled for Greg. It hadn't been love, not really. And now that she was looking at someone else for the first time in months, the comparison was not in her ex's favor. As Illya hailed a taxi, a new freedom filled the air for the young woman. What ever might come next, at least Rhonda knew she wouldn't be missing Greg anymore.

As for Illya Kuryakin, he was taking a chance that this girl was not going to ask more of him than he could give her; he wasn't offering a lifetime, just the evening ahead of them. Many years from now he would look back on this and be reminded of how enjoyable serendipity can be, and that surprises are sometimes the best moments in life.

The party at Napoleon's would be a success, and the erstwhile couple that showed up at his door on Christmas Eve would spark some interesting observations from those in attendance. Rhonda would remember the faces and a few of the names, but most of all she would remember the Russian. And when she would encounter him twenty years later, they would reminisce with a renewed warmth between them, and a shared vocation.

For this Christmas Eve, with no knowledge of the future, two people who had started the day with an anticipation of nothing special would fill their stockings with the simplicity of good cheer and friendly persuasion.

Being a gentlemen in spite of his protestations, Illya would only say to his friend afterwards that Rhonda was a very nice girl.


End file.
